


In the RFA~A Week of Drabble

by DreamWalker84



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Extended Scenes, F/M, Fluff, i don't know what to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamWalker84/pseuds/DreamWalker84
Summary: As a challenge, I have decided to post at least one short fic each day for a week leading up to my birthday! Many of these are parts of fics I either ended up ditching, or omitted from finished works; the rest are original, written just for this post! Most of these are sort of "fill in the blanks" kind of fics; giving life to the empty spaces between scenes and chatroom posts.Thank you everyone who reads my ramblings, and have a spectacular October!





	1. Meeting Zen

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy extension of the night where MC meets Zen.
> 
> Yeah, it's cheesy. Yeah, it is a bit cliche. But I still liked it.

I couldn’t help my legs from bouncing from my nervous twitch as the limo turned down a wide residential street. Apartments lined the sides, pouring warm light from the windows onto the sidewalk along the road.

_Calm down, you twit._

My hands clench in my lap, grasping at the corners of my sweatshirt, the zipper imprinting into my palm from the pressure.

_It’s just Zen. No big deal, right?_

I shook my legs out, trying to release the tension that was building in my muscles. Why was I so nervous? We talked for hours on the phone, chatroom, and emails, we understood each other. And I…did really want to see him.

No, I won’t think of that right now. I am just going to comfort him, and try to convince him to take Jumin up on his job offer.

Feelings cannot get in the way.

But my fidgeting continued, and I was keenly aware of the slowing of the limo as it pulled up in front of a small apartment building, and coming to a complete stop. My stomach does a summersault as I hear the driver put the limo into park and the door open.

_Calm down, it’s just Zen. Be cool. Natural. Just like in chat._

_Is Chat Zen really him?_

“Miss,” the driver ushers as the door opens, and the cool evening air ruffles my ponytail. I nod, and step out onto the sidewalk.

The driver walks ahead of me some paces and knocks on the door leading to the basement apartment. My feet barely continue walking as I hear him say “I have brought Miss Amber. We leave in two hours.”

When I get to the door, there he is. Zen is mostly silhouetted against the light from inside, but I catch the slight shutter of nervousness in his shoulders as his eyes fall to me.

“Yeah, got it. Thanks!” He says, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside, while closing the door abruptly. “Sorry about that.” He smiles, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

“I-is that really ok?” I manage as he releases my arm and backs up a half step.

He laughs and rubs his neck. “I’m sure he won’t like it, but trustfundkid will have to deal with it.” He smiles. “Wow…uh…”

I finally look up at his eyes, and his cheeks are instantly pink. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t get the chance to change, this whole thing kinda caught me mid workout…” I say, suddenly a little ashamed of my tight workout leggings and slightly revealing tank top. I fold the sweatshirt over myself, knowing my hands are shaking too much to operate the zipper.

His eyes break away from me with a nervous laugh, “no, no it wasn’t that.” He backs toward the kitchen. “Do you…um, want a drink or something?” He tries to sound as casual and normal as possible, but his movements are awkward with the cast on his leg.

I can’t help but sigh and laugh to myself. “Yeah, whatever’s fine.” And I slip off my running shoes at the door, tucking them beside his. My arms are wrapped around my torso, my hands hiding inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt as I follow him into the kitchen and he pulls out two beers from the fridge. “I have stronger, if you’d like.”

I shake my head and he pops the can open, handing it to me with a soft smile. “I…hah, man I must seem weird.” He laughs to himself. “I don’t get it. I haven’t felt like this in ages.”

The beer is mild, but the cool drink distracts me enough to stop my fidgeting.  When I pull the beer from my lips, Zen is watching me with an intense look. “Hmm?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He takes a healthy swig and smiles. “Hah, I didn’t think I’d actually meet you before the party.”

“Me too.” I smile. Ok, calm down.

We head back to the living room and he motions for me to sit on the leather sofa, while he takes the recliner nearby. “There’s so much I want to talk about, so much I want to do with you I just…” he sighs and looks at me again. “First…I am sorry, but your eyes are really distracting.”

“M—my eyes?” I stammer. My face heats up immediately, and I habitually brush imaginary hairs from my face to partially hide the blush.

“Yeah. Sorry, I am trying to be good.” He takes another swig and gets up, grabbing a bottle of scotch and sitting back down. “My nerves haven’t been this crazy since…well, hah, I can’t actually remember when.”

“You’re nervous?” I ask, and watch him take a healthy nip off the scotch bottle. “I thought you wouldn’t be nervous of anything.”

He adjusts the loose cardigan he’s wearing and caps the bottle. “When it’s something important, when I really can’t mess up, even I get nervous.”

As he sits there, I see the gentle shake of his muscles through his gray sweatpants, and the way he grips the bottle too tightly to hide the shaking hands. He is nervous…about me?

“I thought I was the only one.” I smile, finishing the beer and putting the can on the table. I spy a guitar leaning against the small piano beside Zen. He follows my eyes and smiles when he figures it out.

“Do you play?” he asks as he grabs the guitar by the neck.

“A little. I’m not very good.” I say. “I had to leave mine back in the states. I have missed music. I play a little piano too. And…”

His eyebrow perks up as I trail off, my cheeks growing immensely hot again. “And?”

“I’m not very good, but…sing too?” it’s a question rather than a statement.

“What do you sing?” he asks as he plucks at the guitar lazily. The music is calming his nerves, and a natural, almost peaceful smile replaces the hyper nervous one he had been wearing up to that point.

“Oh, well, I’m not as good as you are, I’m sure.” I excuse. “Really, it’s like…belching out lyrics in the shower, or singing to the car radio.”

He laughs and continues with the guitar. I watch in rapt fascination as his delicate and strong hands play the instrument effortlessly. “Will you sing something for me?”

My eyes snap up to his in shock. He is entirely serious. “Me?” I choke. “I…I am not good.”

He laughs and his hands still on the guitar. “Just one.”

“Oh…okay. I only know English songs though,” I reply. 

He leans back in his seat, his wine colored eyes focused on me, half closed. There is something behind those eyes, thoughts and…something like need. “If I do not know the words, I can look them up. It is the feeling behind it, not the words, anyway.” He replies quietly, licking his lips. I wonder if he meant to do that. I feel the distinct heat pool in my stomach, watching him watch me as I sit the piano. He smiles as I sit in front of it, and shake the nervousness from my fingers.

The only song that comes to mind flows into my hands with careful precision, the notes resonating with—for once—confidence and beauty that I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Wise men say only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you  
Shall I stay  
Would it be a sin  
If I can't help falling in love with you”

My eyes close as my voice grows in volume, steadily gaining strength. The tune is simple enough, but in my mind, the music is all I feel, all I hear.

“Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling so it goes  
Some things are meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life too  
For I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling so it goes  
Some things are meant to be”

The song slows, and as I reach for the next key, my hand brushes against another, and my eyes snap open. Zen is sitting beside me, hand poised for the next note, smiling at me with such a look that my words stop in my throat. Slowly, he starts the song again.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too”

My voice is suddenly little more than a whisper, now that he is so close. I can feel his body heat coming off his shoulder as he shuffles a little closer to me on the bench. I search his face as he watches my fingers on the keys. He is so close to me. His unused hand brushes against mine, and I cannot help but wonder if it was intentional.

“For I can't help falling in love with you  
For I can't help falling in love with you”

As the last key stills, I have to force myself to inhale and look away. My face is so hot. I take my hands away from the piano and rush to stand. “You have a beautiful voice.” He says quietly, standing with me and sighing. “I could listen to you all night.”

“Thanks,” I manage. How dumb of an answer is that? He notices my nervousness and laughs.

“You really are too cute, you know that?” he motions for me to follow him to the kitchen and he grabs us both another beer. “I mean it though. I wish you would sing more often. Or sing with me—“

“Oh no, no no no. No stages. Nope.” I back away, waving frantically. “Nope, you can have all that attention.”

He laughs and the sound is music in and of itself. “Does the RFA princess have stage fright?”

I nod and drink. “So no thanks on performing. This was nerve-wracking enough.”

“Fair enough.”

We sit and talk for hours, completely losing track of time. “Oh, it’s getting late.” He says, looking at his phone. “There’s one last thing I want to show you.”

He stands and leads me to the back door of the apartment. We climb stairs up to the roof. “I bet you didn’t think I had a view like this here.” He says, while sitting and looking up at the sky.

I watch him relax, staring at the heavens with such a calm and natural aura. Carefully I sit beside him on the narrow ledge. There is so little room left that my back is leaning against his arm, and his hand brushes my backside as I scoot closer—which he’s quick to move to his lap.

“It is beautiful.” I smile, looking up. My head rests unintentionally on his shoulder, and I feel him stiffen just a moment.  “It’s somewhat funny, but I just remembered something from when I was a kid.”

He shuffles and I assume he looks at me, but since my back is turned to him, I do not see it. “Oh? I bet you were a cute kid.”

I chuckle. “Maybe once upon a time, perhaps.” I point to a familiar constellation. “I used to make up my own stories for the constellations. My own shapes too. Like that one; that is Orion, there.” I point at the bright stars of Orion’s belt. “I used to say it was a princess, rather than Orion.”

He chuckles and I turn toward the horizon. I find the next shape on the horizon on the other side of Zen. I lean in, pointing to it. “And that there, that little shape there with the blue star? That was the Rose. I had a whole story about how it was supposed to be good luck if a falling star went through it, and a wish made will definitely come true,” I am leaning across him, and it takes a moment for me to realize my face is dangerously close to his.

“Mhmm.” His quiet, deep voice hums by my ear. I feel his breath quicken, and I know he is trying hard to cope with my closeness.

“D-do you see it?” I ask, suddenly withdrawing to a seated position. I hope that my very hot cheeks are hidden from him in the darkness. “Over there?”

“Show me again? I don’t see it,” he replies quietly. I can hear the smile on his lips as I lean over, pointing to the stars in question, trying to keep my face as far away from his without seeming awkward. “See, at the top of that building there, that is the tip of the leaf, and if you connect the stars…” I am drawing it out, and his face leans closer to my own, following my fingers as they draw it out.

Then, a bright shooting star trailed down the sky, piercing the Rose and fading.

_I wish…_

The thought happens without me even noticing it.

_I wish that Zen actually feels the same._

He gasps a little, and I see his eyes close and a smile cross his lips. “That was it right?” I nod with a grin. “Good, let’s see if that comes true then.” I laugh, and for the first time in ages, I notice how genuine and warm it feels. “I am glad you came.” He whispers.

“Me too.”

“Can…can I hold your hand?” He asks as I sit up normally, and he scoots over a little to give me room to face the same direction as he is. “It just feels…like we’ve known each other for ages.”

“Yeah…” I answer, lifting my hand and touching his gently. He takes ahold of it. His fingers are cold at first, but the heat of his palm quickly warms up my hand. It is comforting, like a blanket right out of the dryer. My lips curl into a soft smile without me realizing it.

“Hah, I’ll need to send you home soon…” he looks at me, a mirthful grin on his beautiful face. “Even just holding your hand, I keep thinking of what comes after…” He laughs somewhat nervously, but doesn’t let go. “I have to remain a gentleman. I made myself promise that.”

“You have been,” I squeeze his hand gently. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, focusing again on me.

“For making me smile.”

A few minutes later we head down from the roof, and just before he opens the front door, he lifts my hand to his lips, and puts a gentle, albeit hot kiss on the back of my hand. I suddenly feel very hot.

“I think Driver Kim is going to be rather grumpy if we keep him waiting any longer,” Zen says with a chuckle. He walks me down the path to the limo, where the driver waits with the door open. “Call when you get home.”

I nod and resist the urge to hug him. That isn’t a normal thing here; I have to keep that in mind. He may be too shocked…

Or maybe the contact will make him lose his resolve.

No, just get in the car, go home. I sit in the back seat, the door closes, but I roll the window down.

“I will. Good night, Zen.”

“See ya, princess.” And the limo takes off. I watch Zen from the rear window until we turn down another street. I swear I see him cheer to himself as he is blocked from my sights.


	2. I Am Not As Calm as Jumin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the nights staying at Jumin's place.  
> Fluff, showing Jumin's softer, more generous side.

“I need gloves,” I say, wrapping my hands in athletic tape, and pushing the gym door open with my shoulder.

The chief security officer follows me, struggling to keep pace with my aggravated stride. “Miss, don’t be reckless,” he cautions, “you shouldn’t do something to hurt yourself.”

“There is a heavy bag in the gym. I am going to hit it,” I am cold, and struggling to remain that way. I kick off the black heels that I had worn down to the gym. “Unless there is a problem with this?”

He sighs and does not retrieve the boxing mitts as I had requested. I leave him at the door and make my way to the black, pristine punching bag at the far wall. The air conditioner is blowing too cold, the place is empty, aside from the security guard and myself, and it is entirely too quiet. I put ear-buds in and amp up the music on my phone, securing it in the pocket of my brand new skirt.

Skirts shouldn’t have pockets.

But that doesn’t matter.

My eyes grow fuzzy as hot tears blur my vision. Swing with a right hook, and my fist makes a heavy slap against the leather. Jab, left hook, kick…

Each strike, one more tear falls, each loud thud I curse—not only to myself, but at my foolish, careless, cold, irresponsible excuse for a brother—the words echoing in my head. How could he do that? How can he just treat our flesh and blood as if it is some sort of money cow, ever feeding into his useless desires? How can he take my hard earned money from someone who needs it, leaving her hungry and nearly homeless in my absence? Somewhere in my head, something breaks. My face burns, and my strikes grow faster, erratic, nearly violent.

But each strike empties one more worry; each crack of taped knuckle on leather, one angry cry is defeated. My hands sting, ache, and the reverberation of the contact makes my head ache. I can barely register the sound of the security officer speaking—or rather yelling at me over the sound of the music that thrummed in my head. The pain is burying the anger, the sadness, and drying the tears from the sheer and utter defeat of all that I had worked for. And I was stuck here. There was nothing I could do.

Then it stopped.

My left wrist was held fast. I had not seen Jumin come in, nor had I heard him approach me. But there he was, his steady, firm grip wrapped around my steady wrist. Long had the shaking stopped, sometime before the tears had, and now…

He doesn’t speak. I don’t need to look at my host to understand the frustration that he inevitably feels beneath that cold exterior. The muscles in my arm relax, and he lowers my arm to my side, but not letting go.

“That is enough.” He says calmly. His hands are cold, and strong, still holding my wrist.

I am pulled rather relentlessly back to the elevator. My eyes barely look at him, and there is an obvious sense of worry on his face. My expression, however, is blank.

For the first time.

It must be startling to see me, makeup streaking down my face, eyes devoid of thought, and my face lacking any substantial color. I had not even thought he would care; much less that he would stop me. Jumin wasn’t even supposed to be home yet.

“Sit.” He orders as we enter the penthouse. He pushes me down on the sofa, and I have little fight left in me to resist. The home is deafeningly quiet, aside from the click of his shoes on the hard floors as he disappears from the living room.

He returns moments later, carrying a medical kit, and a damp wash cloth. His jacket had been discarded somewhere between the bathroom and here, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. “What are you thinking?”

I stare at him blankly. What am I thinking? I watch as he removes the stained tape from my right hand. Oh, it’s bloody. So is the other.

My knuckles are bruised, and the skin has split in several places. There are dots of blood covering my blouse and skirt. My eyes go back to his face. He is focused, wiping away the partially dried blood with the rag, and applying some sort of salve to the wounds. “I…am sorry.” I whisper.

He shakes his head, as if to dismiss the apology on the spot. He treats the left with the same care, and stands. “I am going to pour a bath for you. You are going to wash up, change, and then we are going to talk,” his voice chastises me, and he leaves silently.

In minutes, I am basically locked in the bathroom with a change of clothes, and orders to remain there until I calm down. I am calm; for the first time today, I feel calm.

Rather, I feel nothing at all.

I sink into the warm bath, and a small voice in my mind welcomes the scent of lavender and chamomile that surround me in the pool of bubbles and water. My brother is cruel; how could we be from the same blood? My arms ache, my shoulders ache, my head is pounding, and my hands feel swollen and stiff, even in the warm water. It is no matter now. I will begin again; and if it means begging for help, then my pride will have to take the hit.

It is nearly an hour before I hear a knock at the door. “Are you alright?” Jumin asks quietly.

“Yes.” I answer while standing. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

The door opens from the master bath, directly into the moonlit bedroom. At the far end of the room, barely lit by the moon, Jumin stands, rummaging through an open drawer. My breath is immediately stuck in my throat.

He had been so careful to be conservative with his appearance with me. He would dress in the bathroom, shower after I was busy in the morning and evening with work, even remaining dressed in his suit—sans jacket—long after pajamas would be acceptable. I had begun to wonder if he owned any clothes other than suits.

But there he was, the muscles in his shoulders and back illuminated by the moonlight. I should return to the bathroom before he notices, or run to the living room, or—

“Do you feel better?” he asks calmly, his back still turned to me. He pulls on a white undershirt, pulling it down completely before turning. “Come, I want to talk.”

It isn’t a request; the tone is clearly an order. One I am not in the mood to argue with.

In the living room, a bottle of wine is already waiting, with two glasses. It was clear he was waiting to have his nightly wine. A book lay open on the chair by the window, and Elizabeth 3rd was busy finding a new place to curl up in the warm seat.

I sit, and carefully flex my sensitive fingers. They are bruised, but the swelling should go down tomorrow. He pours a glass and hands it to me, his usual stiffness now mellowed to a tired attempt of staying upright. “Now, tell me what has happened.”

At first I sip the wine, not sure how exactly to respond. I was about to throw what pride I had left out the window. “I’m sorry.” I whisper, placing the glass down. I couldn’t even taste the wine, and I know even the sips I had already consumed were worth at least a week’s worth of pay. I stand, walking to the window overlooking the city. “It is…difficult for me.”

“I am certain it is, for you to react as you did.” He watches me, sipping the wine, and reclining on another chair.

“You must understand, Jumin, that I grew up very different from you. Closer to Zen, actually.” I start nervously, watching the blinking light of a radio tower off in the distance. “It is important, but long winded to get all of the facts out. Do you really wish me to continue? It is late, and you must be—“

“I would not have asked if it was an unnecessary request.”

Of course. Serious Jumin—no nonsense Jumin—cold-hearted Jumin, would not have done this if he didn’t truly want to know.

“I have been taking care of my mother for some time,” I begin, sighing and rubbing the bridge of my nose. “She fell ill when I was young, and after my father—“

“I understand he is passed.”

I nod. “Suicide. It nearly destroyed my mother.” I mumble. “She was unable to work, and was left with massive debts from my father. I was just starting university when he died, but I needed to make sure what was left of her life was taken care of.

“We never had much money to spare when I was growing up, even when my dad was sober and sane. Enough to keep a small house, food on the table, and a car to get us where we needed to go, but by no means were we wealthy.”

I partially expected him to cringe, or question the relevance of this information, but in his reflection, he just sat patiently, waiting. “We didn’t get new clothes, we didn’t attend private schools, we didn’t get new toys or even a computer until I was—gosh I think I was in high school when we got one as a gift from my grandmother.

“Anyway, I have told you I have a twin brother, and two younger sisters. None of them have the…drive, I suppose, to live independently. Most of them resided with my mother well into adulthood. They did not have any form of employment, and they all dropped out of college after a couple years, once they burned through their inheritance.

“After I moved here, and hiring a caretaker for mother, my brother… moved back into my mother’s home, as he had recently been evicted—again mind you—and my mother allowed him access to her banking in order to go grocery shopping.” I sigh, feeling the pulse of a headache hammering at my skull. “She has issues with memory, and she trusted him…”

“Your brother, then, has stolen from your mother?” Jumin asks finally.

“Yes, but it wasn’t just that.” I turn back, leaning against the window, and folding my arms around myself. “I liquidated everything I owned, and what I didn’t need to move, I put into her accounts to help with medical bills, house payments, and help with monthly bills…”

He stands, lifting my glass and handing it to me. “I have been funneling seventy-five percent of my income into that account so she could have a comfortable life now, one without worries, with knowledgeable doctors and the right medications…”

He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else, looking out into the city. “He took it all. Every penny. And took out credit in her name as well. She called me this morning sobbing because she got notice that her home was being taken as payment.”

“I see.”

I am too tired to be angry again. I sip the wine. I try to focus on the deep red wine, trying to taste the drink. “She hasn’t had a solid meal in three days. My sisters are unable to help her, and my brother has run off.”

“How much?”

My eyes get hot again. I do not want to say. “I don’t…want to take your money, Jumin. You are already doing enough for me.”

“That wasn’t the question. How much?” He looks at me, sternly. “To keep the home, to replenish what he took, how much was it?”

I blush, knowing the sum was weekend change for him, but told him anyway. “It was a point of pride for me, you know…to take care of her, as the eldest child of the family.” Another sip. It is delicious, but I still cannot place what type it was. “I worked two jobs in college, paid off the debts father had left—most of them anyway—and still managed to get the job I wanted as a graphic artist. I had nearly perfect scores, even took extra classes in business over the summer, plus seasonal jobs on holidays. I bought a van outfitted for her wheelchair so she could get to appointments and on good days, the aid could take her outside.”

Sighing I finish the glass. “It doesn’t much matter, I suppose. She said the van was gone weeks ago, and she didn’t want to tell me. She sold the last of the electronics in the house, and pawned her grandmother’s wedding ring to keep the water on…”

“Ember, it will be taken care of.” Jumin says after a minute of silence. “You should have told me earlier; we could have had this cleared away by dinner.”

“I did not want to ask for money, Jumin.” I watch him as he takes my glass, and pours more wine into it. “Thank you.”

“The fact that you did not want to even ask for help with such a small sum, speaks volumes. However, I want to assure you…” he looks flustered, tired, and somehow, relieved. “You should feel no less a woman by asking. If I could bring your mother here, I would do so.”

“She is too ill to travel this distance, but the thought is…thank you.” I smile, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek. “She would be very touched, and embarrassed, by your generosity, Jumin. She will want me to thank you in any way I can.”

The words slip out before I have the chance to edit them in my mind. He looks sideways down at me, and his cheeks seem a little pink. “I will have to arrange a time to visit and hear it from her directly.”

My eyes widen as I look at him. “You…want to meet her?”

He smiles a little. “Of course, any woman who raises a daughter as wonderful as you should be recognized as wonderful as well.” He finishes his glass and pours another. “Do not worry about the finances. Consider it a gift for keeping you here longer than you had wanted to.”

That’s right, he had said I would return today, but something came up. I had so much work to do, between the agency and the RFA that I had been trying to forget about it so I would not get sick with stress. “Thank you, again, Jumin.” I choke. “Really. You…you don’t understand how much this means.”

“I have an idea.” He smiles. “Now, enough with the worries. Finish your wine, and I’ll read more of that book tonight.”

I nod, and gaze out the window, drinking down the wine. Elizabeth 3rd rubs against my calves, purring, as if to say she understood too, before going off somewhere in the flat.


	3. Just Talk to me Seven!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How my MC copes with Seven's rejection, and keep her hopes up during his stay at her apartment.

She opened a new word document and watched the white page for a long time. She can still hear the tap of keys in the living room, and the occasional groans as he shifts on the hard floor, despite his insistence that it was where he wanted to be.

There were so many words that wanted to escape her every time she saw him.

So many things she wanted to ask, things she wanted so say…

Things she wanted to do.

_Luciel,_

She typed it, and stared at the name, her eyes filling with hot tears before she could do anything else. She wipes her eyes and takes in one big breath to steady herself.

_I don’t know if you’ll read this. Part of me hopes that you do, the rest wishes this to be some sort of secret diary to hide away the thoughts that are trying so hard to make me mess things up._

She hears the keystrokes stop in the living room, and watches as he stands, stretching and going into the kitchen. She adjusts her legs on the bed, stretching the ache in her knees a little before looking down at the screen.

_So instead of allowing myself to cause you more pain, I will write it down, and hope that it is enough. I pray it is enough._

Luciel walks back across the room, sitting down once more out of view. Slowly the typing begins anew. She sighs to herself, willing herself to hold back the tears that still threaten to spill over.

_For a long time, I didn’t think I really needed more than the knowledge that I was doing good. But now, it feels like you are invading every aspect of my mind! It is like you are in my very blood, like without you, somehow I’d cease to exist._

_Just talk to me, please! Tell me all the things that exist inside your head. There must be things you want to say, things you want to ask, things that you are forcing yourself not to do. I want to say so much, but…_

_But it hurts._

_It isn’t easy for me too, you know. Sure, you saw my life in 1 and 0’s; you know more about the goings on in my existence than I do. But you don’t know my mind. It is so hard to feel like this, for the first time, I feel like I am alive, like I have woken up from a dream, and I am scared. But I can’t tell you._

_Because you won’t talk to me._

_If we could even be friends…I won’t make you ever look at me again. But I want to know why you are hiding from me. You claim to be dangerous, but truthfully, I would rather be by your side than live the fruitless life I had before the RFA._

She wonders if he is already reading this as she hears the typing slow and pause. For a moment, she considers getting up and making an excuse to walk by him, to peek at his computer. The heavy weight in her chest quickly exterminates that idea.

_I know this isn’t a game. I can’t go back to a save and try again. I can’t decide I hate the ending and start over…_

_So the rules need to change._

_I won’t sit idly by and watch you destroy yourself in your silence. You’ll bleed to death with how hard you bite your tongue. I won’t run, and I won’t hide; if it is dangerous, then you will have someone at your side. If you die, then so will I._

The words came out quicker than her thoughts had processed them. The typing in the front room stops entirely, and the whole world seems to be silent.

She swallows the lump in her throat, and presses on her sternum, as if the pressure will somehow relieve the pain in her chest. The warmth of her cheeks is broken by the cool air on tears that finally broke through her restraint.

_I will stay, even when you push me away. I will always find a way to find you, because you are important to me. I will never forget who you are; even the bitter, mean words that you force at me. I will take your darkness along with your light. You are a beautiful soul, and I will set you free from the war in your own mind._

_I love you, Luciel._

_And it hurts like hell._

The whole apartment is silent, aside from the whirr of computers and the near silent buzz of electronics that riddle the place. She gets up, leaving the document unsaved and open on her computer. She wipes her face, cooling it with a bit of water in the bathroom. When the red from her cheeks and eyes have faded, she decides to go get a drink.

She has no intention on bothering him. She can barely hear anything over the beating of her pulse in her ears. With puffy eyes, she walks steadily to the kitchen for a bottle of water. She doesn’t know that Luciel had gotten up to follow her, his eyes watching her with such deep sorrow that he too, has tears forming at the corners of his amber eyes.

When she turns around, she smiles at him, like she always had. He walks away, not wanting her to see his reaction.

Maybe it was the overload of emotions that still linger after writing. Maybe writing was really not enough to hold her back; she forgot the sealed water bottle and wrapped her arms around him. Her face nuzzled into his back, and she could feel his breathing hesitate through her palms pressed against his chest.

She wanted to say sorry. She wanted to ask for forgiveness for causing him pain. But she also wanted to hear him say something. The words on the page still repeated behind her closed eyes. _Just talk to me._

But it was silent for far too long.


	4. God Seven and Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from a fic that has sorta died out. In this fic, May is the coordinator, but the story focuses on Amber who is her much more responsible twin sister. May is the outgoing, social butterfly, where Amber is the introvert game developer.   
> Amber also wears glasses.  
> Just some fluff based off of one of the phone calls in 707's route.

“But I’m even more curious, meow.” I giggle. I’m standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He shakes his head, but answers the phone nonetheless.

“Why are you suddenly so interested in taking my glasses off?” he asked finally. “You already did it once, and you have seen me without them…”

“Because God Seven is cute,” I answer, blushing immediately.

“Maybe I should try to take your glasses off,” he answers with a grin I can clearly see from the bed. “I bet you are even cuter. Especially with that cat ear hoodie. I just want to record you saying ‘meow’ and have a picture of it—Ahh, hah, n-never mind. I’m trying to work here!”

“Awww, but I wanna play meow!” I am suppressing a giggle, and he glares playfully from the living room. “Can I poke your cheeks?”

“No. Stop calling or I will get you.” He says in a low, playful growl. “I’m going to bite you if you keep interrupting me”

“Woof, woof!” I giggle.

He’s up in a heartbeat and I squeal, laughing away from the phone. “Hey, I said I was going to get you!”

I run out to the living room, wearing the same lose fitting pajamas from the night before (including the mid-drift shirt), and circle around, putting the couch between him and I. “What? You’re running away now? Wait!” With a wide grin on his face he drops his phone and chases after me, circling the couch. I jump over laughing, depositing the phone there and jumping over cords and around the coffee table. “Hey! Watch the gear!” he’s laughing as he follows, trying to catch me on the other side of the table.

“Can’t bite me if you can’t get me!” I laugh, leaping over the couch again and running—for some reason—toward the kitchen. It’s a dead end; I know this, but still.

“I’m going to get you, and I’m going to nibble away at you!” he growls. It is then I realize my mistake and find myself trapped in the narrow kitchen. Makes grabbing motions with his hands as he stalks me overdramatically. I try to make a break for it, running and sliding across the tile floor in my socks. He is faster than I thought he’d be, and he has both arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground instantly. My back is to his chest, and I squirm laughing as he starts biting my arm and shoulder.

Simultaneously, my cheeks are warming up, even as I laugh, as his bites get closer to the exposed skin of my collar. He carries me, ‘struggling’ to the living room, and throws me on the couch, and proceeding to find very ticklish spots on my sides. “N-n-no!” I am laughing so hard tears are falling and clouding my glasses with blurry spots. It is hard not to kick him. He is leaning over me, his warm, large hands relentlessly tickling my sides only stopping to grab one of my arms to bite it playfully, keeping the sleeve fabric in his mouth, to hold my arm away.

“That’s what you get!” he laughs through the sleeve. I pull my arm out of the sleeve, and struggle a little to get away.

“Okay, okay! I give up!” I laugh, “S-s-stop already! You won!”

His eyes burn as they look down on me. My cheeks are still very red, more so now that I realize the position we are in. His hands finally stop and he plops on the couch by my side, one hand still resting on the bare skin of my torso. “You forget who you are messing with,” his voice is low, and his eyes glitter with tears from laughing, “I am the master, the only God Seven! Bow before me!”

I laugh and go to sit up, but he doesn’t move. “I—I can’t if you don’t let me up.” I whisper with a chuckle.

His sideways grin slides a little, and his face goes pink. He looks like his face was getting very close…but maybe that was just my imagination? Luciel’s hand suddenly pulls away from me and he pulls my sweater-less arm to sit me upright. We are nearly chest to chest, and my breath stops. I bow my head slightly, his hand still gripping my wrist, pulling my arm across his chest and shoulder. My eyes keep contact with his, and it is only then, that I notice the atmosphere is very different.

Luciel is warm; even in the chilly apartment, I can feel the heat radiating off of his tee-shirted chest, and the puffs of breath he exhales. He is so close to me that each of my exhales, still heavy from running around and laughing so hard, makes the bangs in front of his face sway.

Then I feel his other hand lift from the couch where it had been resting. His fingers grip the arm of my glasses. Luciel’s eyes are so intense as he pulls the frames off of my face, and just holds them, looking at me. My eyes dart from his left, to right, just long enough to focus on the golden amber irises before moving. My body is heating up, and my breathing is growing shallower.

Suddenly, his face gets even more pink, and he smiles. “Yup, cuter.” He chuckles, and pockets the glasses. “Mine now. Don’t hurt yourself.” He says, while standing and withdrawing his hands.

“But…I can’t read the screen without those!” I reach for his pocket and he nimbly dodges out of the way with a chuckle. “Luciel!”

He laughs now, and the chase starts anew. This time, I am much slower, as everything is very blurry, and with the apartment being entirely in the beige-white color scheme, everything starts to turn into one fuzzy mess. He is very able to outrun me, until I stop, panting in the hall as he lands confidently on the couch, posing with his head resting on one hand like he is modeling for some romantic era painting. “Give up yet?” he laughs, twirling my black frames in his hand.

“I’ll get you,” I sigh panting again. “Not fair, may as well make me blind!”

“Nothing’s fair in love and war!” he quotes triumphantly, putting the glasses on the couch beside him and sitting upright. “Now, I really do need to finish working. You should go sleep.”

“Come on, Luciel. Please give them back.” I pout.

 “Ah, I see what you’re doing! It won’t work!” he laughs teasingly and focuses on the computer. I give up.

I nibble on whatever is in the fridge, and drink some water. I need those glasses back. How distracted can he get with his work? Hmm…

As I circle the couch to get my phone, he snatches up my glasses and watches me with playfully suspicious eyes. I laugh and just pick up the phone, looking at it and returning to the back bedroom. I call May, chat with her. She immediately notices my better attitude, and starts teasing me about what happened. “Just a friendly competition.” I giggle quietly. “And he may be holding my glasses hostage.”

“Your glasses?” she laughs. “How…romantically cheesy!”

“I don’t think—well, maybe, well…I don’t know. Either way, he has them. So, any advice?” I grin, watching him work without looking up. A little longer, and he’ll put his headset on, and will be oblivious to the world.

“Hmm…” I hear a mischievous tone in her thoughtful noise. “What’s the situation?” I give her a general idea of his position, where the glasses are, what he’s doing, and as I finish, I see him put the earphones on and do some voice commands to his computer. “How brave are you feeling, sissy?” she coos on the phone. I hear voices in the background, “yeah, yeah it’s Amber. Sounds like the two of them are doing MUCH better. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Thanks Jumin!”

“You are staying with Jumin now?” I ask, loud enough that if he was listening, he’d make some response; he doesn’t.

“Yes, he insisted.” She sounds happy. “I…I am not sure, but…I think I like him. And he wishes me to tell you he is glad you are doing well, and hopes that you make Seven eat properly.”

“Good for you!” I cheer. “I am happy for you!”

“But we aren’t talking about me right now!” she sounds entirely too happy. “I bet…hehehe” she giggles. “I bet you could get it if you kiss him.”

“K-kiss him?!” I almost yell, but I stifle it, and my face goes hot again. “M-May!”

She laughs. “You don’t have to go full on the lips kiss or anything!” she laughs again as I feel even warmer. “He’s on the couch right? And the glasses are by his side?”

“Yeah,” I say cautiously, looking at him briefly through the open door.

“So…here’s what you do…” she tells me the plan. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. “Are you brave enough, 606?” She giggles. “You know…he said once that ‘606’ was the code of his ‘imaginary’ girlfriend…”

“May! Focus! Glasses!” I gasp, trying to shake that thought out of my head. “Okay…okay…so…just…kiss him…No big deal, we’re adults…”

“It has been a while for you, though.” She sighs. “I should have played matchmaker for you before now, but I guess this works.”

“May…please, this is really nerve-wracking!” I sigh. Not that I would have minded being set up with Luciel…he wouldn’t have gone for it though.

“Hah, call me after your mission attempt.” She says this in a somewhat teasingly authoritarian tone. “I hope to hear good news.”

I can hear her wink at the phone. “Yeah…okay. Hey, May?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I hope Jumin keeps you safe. And treats you like a queen. You deserve it.”

“Now, we’ll talk about THAT another night. He is waiting at the dinner table, sorry, but call me later, yeah?” she replies.

“Yeah, enjoy dinner.”

I hang up and quietly leave the room. How brave can I be? I have never been forward like this…Except when he was asleep. I make like I am headed to the kitchen, and he doesn’t even seem to notice me. Good. Maybe I can do this without the kiss?

I grab a bottle of water, one of the last in the apartment, and leave the kitchen slowly. He’s still looking at the screens, typing occasionally. I round behind the low backed couch, and reach down; he’ll see me in his periphery if I do this.

My lips meet his neck right below the left ear, and I grab the glasses in one movement. He goes nearly rigid, and a slight groan escapes his lips. I immediately feel a twinge of arousal at the action, not realizing the effect until after the deed was done. I yank my arm away, still leaning against his shoulder. “I win.” I whisper with a smile, and saunter back toward the bedroom. I turn once to look at him through finger-prints and smudges, and he watches me wide eyed and bright—I mean BRIGHT—red cheeks. I wink and go back to my room.

I swear I see him touch that spot on his neck, as if he wasn’t sure what happened as I closed the door most of the way.

May is entirely too happy with the results of this ‘mission’ when I call her. Even recounting the events quietly make my body warm up. I am cleaning the lenses as she goes on and on about how I have ‘overcome my teenage awkwardness’ and have started to ‘become a real woman’. I know she doesn’t mean I haven’t been an adult, but hearing her say it—and she is no innocent mind you—just made me cringe. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can guarantee he liked it,” she replies quickly. “With a response like that…that boy has it HARD for you.”

“May, don’t talk like that. I am sure he…well, if he does, I don’t know if he would let himself…you know, be more than this.” I sigh. “It would be nice. I really do like him.”

“Would you sleep with him?”

“MAY!” I scream. “You can’t just ask that!”

She is laughing and I hear Jumin in the background chastising her blunt language in a slightly disinterested tone. “Oh Amber, you are so funny! You make it so easy!”

My face is really red, and of course, that is when Luciel knocks on the door. “I—are you okay?” he asks, peeking in.

“Mhmm!” I nod, looking away. “May just…said something very embarrassing!”

“Ah, well, I am going to shower, so watch the feeds.” He says.

He closes the door and I hear the bathroom door close. It isn’t long before the water is going and I sigh. “May, this is bad.”

“I see nothing bad, here.” She is acting very proud of herself. “I see you finally owning your own human nature. Go have fun! In the top drawer of the night stand there are con—“

“No! Don’t say it. No. I will hang up,” I threaten, rubbing my forehead. “I need to calm down, not get worse! God, you are not helping. I should get back to work, I have more logs to go over.”

“Yeah, sure you do. Strange, you sound just like Seven!”

“May…just. Gah, never mind. Good night. I am safe, you can tell everyone in chat that I am safe—oh tell Zen that Seven is not a beast, and to stop messaging me to ‘be careful’. I don’t think I’ll log on tonight.” I am watching the CCTV feeds, with a window of my hacking process overlapping. “And…someday I’ll thank you. But tonight isn’t that night.”

“Hah, okay. Good night~ Have fun~” she sings and hangs up before I can complain about the innuendo that was so thick in her voice it was practically spilling out of the phone.


	5. Creating Memories--V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff from V's point of view. It is something I thought of when thinking about V and the text about muses ending with him asking to see your work.  
> This was actually kinda hard to write, being from a male point of view. Ultimately I am okay with how it turned out.

She was so focused that she had not heard me knock or call for her at the door.

I did not mean to arrive early.

But I am glad I did.

She had asked me to come by her new place, to talk about my travels and have lunch. Her smile was so warm, and I wanted nothing else than to spend time to create our first masterpiece memory together.

Two years had gone by, and countless nights imagining what this wonderful, gentle soul looked like when no other eyes were on her. I had seen such brilliant smiles from her during times of extreme duress; I had felt her warm touch on my face when I couldn’t think of anything but the darkness of my own creation. Now, in her own element, humming to the music in side that magical mind, she shows me something new.

Scattered around the room are pages from sketch books, in varied stages of completion. Charcoal smudges litter every light colored surface, and spots and splashes of bright paint are smeared over the loose cloth covering the floor and pinned to the far wall. The featured item in the room, however, was the large, heavy, solid built easel, and the meter wide canvas that rested on it. The sun is pouring through the window, setting her platinum hair ablaze with light like an angel’s halo. In one hand, she cradles a steaming cup of coffee, in the other, a large paint brush.

The way her right hand gripped the brush as it ran slowly down the large canvas caught my eye right away. It was as if it was the most natural thing, the brush was an extension of her thoughts. Each slow stroke, she would look deeply into the painting, sometimes stepping back, and tilting her head just a little, sipping from her mug, and continuing.  A breeze from the open window caught in her hair, making it sway just a little. I could not help be attracted to her, and I couldn’t help but smile.

It was pure magic.

I wanted to capture it myself, and perhaps later I may; but for now I am selfish, holding this holy scene in my own memory.  For a moment, I wonder how many of these scenes I would have already created with her, if I had come back to her sooner. I wonder if I would have yet felt her passion for her art, for her life, and…for me. In that breath, I think of her lips, the depths of her sapphire blue eyes, and the feather light, silken skin of her graceful hands.

It would be a lie to say I did not wish to feel her fingers brush against my skin again. I wanted to hear her soft voice whisper to me. I wanted to be engulfed in the scent that is unique only to her.

There is a part of me that shudders, still afraid that I would slip back into the obsessive tendencies that scarred me. The severity of my desires, the strength of those wishes, and the unbelievable amount of restraint it took to not rush and embrace her now, beneath the warmth of the ever persistent sun, almost make me shrink back in fear. I could not do that to her, I will not. I am a different man now, and I will be better for her.

She puts the brush down, balancing it on the mud colored jar of paint thinner. The way she covers the wet paint piles on the pallet with clear plastic, how she puts away each brush into the hanging pockets on the side of the easel, and the way she wipes the dried oil paint on her hands, is practiced and thorough, as if it was second nature to her. Not once did she take her eyes off the partially completed painting that stretched before her.  

 Then, she sighs and a little giggle escapes her. I see her shoulders and back shake just a little as she again sips her coffee.

“If you want to stare so much, you should take a picture; it will last longer,” she teases and turns to smile at me. Her humor is not lost on me, but the beauty of her face, streaked with paint and charcoal, was too much.

I was speechless for a moment. She truly was an angel.

“Perhaps someday I will. I am sorry, if I startled you, but I was too enthralled watching you work.” I answer plainly, feeling my own face warm up with such an admission.  Her peaceful eyes fill with so much love that I can feel it like a warm embrace.

Today is the first of many great masterpieces, and this one is forever mine.


	6. Reset Theory: Reposting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ended up busy the day before and day of my birthday. So sorry!  
> So I am cheating a little, and posting my only finished fic as my day 6.

How many times have I reset?

How many years have I spent here, watching, waiting…

Falling and crying…

Waking up on the first day, all over again…

I am trying tighten the hold on my shoulder, ignoring the stinging pain, and the nausea, and focus as best I can.

How many more times…or is this it?

I remember the first time. The game lit up on my phone, and I was so excited to finally find something to tear my mind away from the pathetic excuse for an existence I had been harboring. I was alone; family was dead, friends long moved on with their lives, and work was simply a place to bring home a paycheck. Nobody knew my name, and nobody seemed to care.

Mystic Messenger: the game would show me what it meant to feel. I didn’t know it then, how could I? I felt alive when I played that game, and I quickly finished the entirety of it. That night, I met him.

He called himself a wizard; I was skeptical of course. Magic does not exist, not here. He said he could make my deepest desire come true. I didn’t even know I truly had a desire to make true. In return for his gift, I had to complete a task. Two birds, one stone, he said; I could get my wish, and he would be free from a troublesome issue.

Oh, had I known then what I know now…

No, I still would have agreed.

I was desperate then. Empty. Afraid. His near-crazy eyes sparkled at me, still holding my phone in the café with free Wi-Fi. He said another force was interfering with his work, and he was quickly running out of energy to maintain it. He wouldn’t explain what work that was, nor did he say how it was interfering. But…he looked tired. And it was a way out.

He gave me two things; fluency in a language I had previously not known, and an understanding of computer coding, on par with some of the best computer scientists in the world. At the time, I had no idea what I would need these things for. Then everything faded away.

I could no longer remember my name, my family’s faces, the place I was born, even simple memories were simply gone. When I woke, I was in Seoul.

It was a busy street, and I was simply standing there, on the sidewalk, holding my phone in my hand, still wearing the same clothes I had worn when I went to that café in California that autumn day.

This was the first day.

A young woman caught my eye. Immediately I knew her, long brown hair, slender figure, wearing a sweater and skirt, staring at her phone and pausing occasionally to respond to whomever she was texting. Then my phone vibrated in my hand, and the game came up.

The chatroom began to scroll right before my eyes. People talked, and it was as if I was no longer playing, but re-watching the games I had already completed. It didn’t take long for me to realize who that woman was.

I followed at a safe distance, knowing she was a bit unobservant. I kept an eye on the chatroom, following the story as it magically unfolded before me. I was surprised, to say the least. Here I was, oceans away from where I began, following a story I had believed to be just a beloved game. She entered a large, modern style apartment building, and I followed, keeping my head down as I entered the elevator with her. Still, she typed, unaware of my presence.

On the 14th floor, she exited, and I did too, she turned right from the elevator, and I went left, slowly, pretending to pay attention to my phone more than the only other body on this floor. She walked up to a door, and rang the bell…

It was exactly the same.

I ducked behind a large pillar and sat down, dropping my purse on the floor beside me. She entered the apartment, she was left to the chatroom, was interrogated, and then…

She was asked to be the newest member of the RFA.

This was MC; my previous ideas had been confirmed. I watched the chatroom in rapt fascination as the whole story played out. If MC was real, then…then the rest of them are as well.

She stayed there, that night. I remember wondering what her name was, where she lived, what she did for a living, if she was a student, and how old she was. I remember waiting in that hallway till long after dark, noticing that no other people came or went from the 14th floor.

It was nearing 11 at night when I finally got hungry for the first time. I found I had a black credit card with no name on it, tucked away inside my purse. “My luck has finally improved!” I remember thinking, as I rode the elevator downstairs, and flagged a taxi for a ride to a nearby moderately priced hotel.

The next three days were spent between watching the chatroom in the hotel room, and exploring the city. I don’t remember what name I used then. I had never been out of the United States before, and this was a whole new country—a whole new culture—that I was very foreign to. I bought clothes, a suitcase, and went to a salon for the first time in who knows how long.

But that is not the point of the story. From time to time, I would catch a glimpse of the ‘wizard’ in the crowd, watching me intently, but as soon as I focused on him, he simply vanished.

Then day 5 began. I was eating a delightful breakfast in the restaurant in the hotel when I noticed the game had switched to Zen’s route. I knew what was going to happen, and I watched.

But I didn’t do anything. I simply lived.

And the week continued.

The day of the RFA party arrived, and I remembered seeing it on the news in the hotel room. It made major news, since the recent scandal victim was a member of the RFA. I had the volume off the television and watched the story unfold on my phone.

I went to sleep without a care in the world, without any knowledge of what was going to happen.

I woke up the next morning on the street, wearing the same clothes that I had arrived in, but holding the purchased suitcase filled with clothes. And I saw MC, just as I had the first day, phone in hand, marching to the same apartment building.

It took a few ‘reset’ attempts before I began to understand what my purpose was. With each new attempt, I was left with the things I had in my possession, walking in the street. Each time, I felt something different, but I couldn’t quite understand what it was that felt different.

I was supposed to change the story.

The day I bought the nicest laptop I could find changed the world for me. I began to funnel information into anything connected to Zen, the RFA, even this elusive MC, of which I still did not know her name. I created a similar Tripter bot (it is exactly like Twitter, just a different name), almost an exact duplicate to 707’s bot, and sent his pictures and ‘trips’ even further. I managed to hack into Metube (again, different name for Youtube, same layout, even same coloring and concepts), and mass upload videos and share homemade music videos of his performances, or simply his pictures made into music videos. I began checking out the artist Echo Girl. By the time the route changed, I was well armed, and my plans were already set in motion.

I had fished out every piece of information regarding Echo Girl. I had sorted it all, somehow, and when the rumors started, I was the voice that started the defense of Zen. “What kind of woman would brag about her chest size, and then accuse an actor she fantasized for in the same breath?” was the first Trip I threw out there.

Soon, Tripter was plastered with my ‘name’. It took me a few resets to finally decide a name to go with: Sorei. I am sure the name was not lost on those who paid attention; it translated more or less to a protector spirit, a ghost, in Japanese. I am no ancestor, but this was the task I was aiming to undertake.

By now, I had developed something of a kinship—a one sided affection—for Zen. I don’t know when I noticed it the first time, but it was around day 6 of this attempt that I recognized it.

I had purchased myself a motorcycle by this time, and had taken enough lessons to ride efficiently, if not with some degree of advanced skill. I was outside of Zen’s house when Echo Girl came running out, and the manager took her picture.

I never went near the RFA members unless I was somehow obscured from view. When I finish purchasing a fish-shaped bun from the street vendor, I see Zen exit his house, clearly still flustered from the outrageous behavior Echo Girl had displayed. I know he sees me too, and he waves ‘hello’ to me before walking down the street. I have my helmet and leathers on, he could not see my face.

When the RFA party arrived this time, I was anxious. I switched hotels, landing closer to the venue than before. I had tried to find a way to attend, but resources were limited. Instead, I hid away in the mass of fans and reporters, and watched.

I stayed to the back, and seeing that I am a bit taller than the average height, was able to see quite clearly as Zen and MC exited a nice car, dressed like movie stars, and eventually get inside. I considered leaving them to their peace and leaving, but with a smirk, I thought “why not? What’s the worst that can happen?” and found a way inside.

I don’t remember being quite so sneaky before—but then again, I don’t remember anything from before. I found an upper room in the building with an unlocked window. With minimal effort I disabled the security cameras just long enough to get inside.

It still amazes me that I did this without Seven catching on. I suppose the ‘wizard’ had something to do with it, but perhaps I was just lucky. I found a jumper that was labeled for some of the set up crew, and quickly threw it over my leathers, adding a baseball cap and pulling my hair through to a ponytail at the back of my head. Almost right away I was tasked with adjusting one of the spotlights. I fit in well enough that the manager had not noticed me.

Zen makes his speech, and MC looks delighted. They auction off V’s photos, and I can just catch a glimpse of the group of them talking in the dining hall, before I feel the need to leave. I pass Seven as he types away on his computer, and I try to remain as calm and ordinary as I could.

But he looks up when I walk by. His face—at first—doesn’t seem to change. It is only a moment, and it feels like it goes in slow motion, but he focuses his amber eyes, squinting just a little to watch me as I round the rear of the stage, and disappear up a staircase out of sight.

I discard the uniform and leave out a back entrance. My bike is left untouched, and I ride off to the hotel.

It is years before I hear anything again. I make daily stops by Zen’s house, riding by at first. I’d catch glimpses of the two of them, obviously in love. I even managed to snap a few pictures through an open window once, nothing obscene, just the two of them making dinner, and once of them watching one of his musicals on the television. I remained a ghost to the RFA, a silent, unseen protector, well beyond when I thought I would.

It was after Valentine’s day several years after MC’s first event when I felt the shift again. I had known, when I did not wake up on the street on day 12, that I had done something right. With my usual stealth, I followed their car as Zen drove MC to the apartment, and disappeared inside. I didn’t need to follow them to know what happens.

And I couldn’t help the sad smile that my lips press into as I rev the engine and drive away into the night.

But my story does not end there.

Next is Jaehee.

It takes only one reset for me to figure out what to do here. It required little from me, just adjusting some numbers on the contract to sell the building that Jaehee and MC would later buy to convert into their coffee house.

Yes, this part is rather shallow, but it really was that easy. I was the first customer to buy a coffee when the doors opened. The two of them looked quite content. I couldn’t help but be happy for them. I tipped them—which was not practiced as much here—and left before they could ask questions.

I woke in my hotel room on the same date in autumn. At least, since I had this room, I didn’t need to worry about having a pile of things appear on the sidewalk when I wake up at the start of a new route.

Yoosung was the most trying. I had spent the first few days, while the start of the game replayed, driving the back roads and trails in the mountains that surround the city, desperately trying to locate the Mint Eye headquarters. My thought, at the time, was that I could somehow stop Yoosung from being injured. The young man was probably my in game best friend—I loved his attitude, and he always seemed to make me smile with his cute antics. It was strange, that I felt a friendship to Yoosung so soon, but nonetheless, the boy had a piece of my heart.

But this route ended up much more of a struggle than I had expected. I had reset three times without success at finding Mint Eye. Each time, I would find Yoosung in the hospital with Seven, his eye covered by a bandage, and dried blood being cleaned from his cheek. It hurt.

Frustrated, I finally attempted to infiltrate Seven’s computer in his fancy sports car. The problem was that each play-through, he drove a different one. I ended up having to hack into the GPS of each of his cars, and simply wait until one of them left his estate.

The first attempt failed miserably.

I drove for three hours without lights or my phone to escape the agents that were deployed when Seven notified them of my cyber-attack. It was then that I realized I could manually reset myself. I had simply hit reset on the game, and in a blink I was in the hotel room again.

The second attempt was less miserable. It just didn’t prove helpful either.

The third, however—and mind you this was the 6th reset—gave me the information I needed, and I was able to follow Seven and Yoosung as they traveled up the mountain roads. While Yoosung was being tortured, I created a distraction—which was not my first intention, but it did the trick. As the torture continued, I was certain that, with my presence, he would die. I returned to a kitchen area at the far end of the house, turned on the gas oven, and left the door open. Even in the rear of the building, outside and far from the room the boy was kept in, I could occasionally hear his painful cries on the wind. It made the wait for the gas to build in the kitchen seem that much longer.

When I could smell the gas through the open window, I tossed a lit match in the window, and ducked.

I don’t know if it happens like this in real life, but I had already come to grips with the idea that I did not live a normal life.

The kitchen exploded with a massive fireball, which took out the kitchen and part of the connecting wing of the house. I got just clear of the explosion and ran to my bike, hidden behind some trees in the surrounding woods, and walked it to a higher path I had found on one of my previous attempts. I watched Seven pull Yoosung out of the building in the confusion, and the two of them drove off.

After that, the party, I snuck in similarly to Zen’s route, and was happy to see Yoosung, bandaged but smiling, as he kissed MC.

I attended their wedding shortly after that, as one of the caterers. It was a cute wedding, and I was, truthfully, very happy for my one-sided best friend.

I even cried.

It was a strange feeling, really. It isn’t as if I have never been happy for someone, but I felt a bit of…pride, knowing that I helped make it happen. It was a strange feeling to have a friend, even when he didn’t know I existed.

I brought a stray kitten in to his clinic once he graduated with his doctorate in veterinary medicine. I didn’t remove the helmet, just lowered the glass to speak to MC (who was the nurse/receptionist). “I took her in last night, named her Lisa. I can’t keep her, or I would, but she seems to be sick. Can you please help her out? I am afraid the bike ride may have upset her a little too much.”

Of course they took her in, and I left, knowing I gave them one last gift before I was going to wake up again.

Then, it was Jumin’s turn.

This was difficult for me; not because it took so much effort on my part to hack into his security feed, record his voice so I could order his guards to let me through over the phone, and the massive amounts of disguises I had to go through. I even hired on as his maid for a time, and he fired me just before MC went to live with him.

It was difficult because Jumin is difficult. The first reset, MC jumped from the bedroom window of his penthouse in order to escape his prison. I barely hit the reset button before she hit the pavement below. There were a few where I simply couldn’t get close enough to change anything at all. I must have lived months, repeating the same week over and over, until I got hired onto his security team.

I was working closely with his chief security officer, investigating rumors and information that Mr. Han fed to us. Most of it was useless; but on occasion, there were little things I could tell were real. Of course, I couldn’t go directly into the apartment, as I was not supposed to know where it was. However, after a time, I was able to imbed myself as a computer expert and assist Jaehee for information on the issue regarding Glam Choi and her sister Sarah.

It was one afternoon when Jaehee stopped by my desk in the small corner office of the C&R building when I suggested she wear a wire-tap. At first she declined, saying it was entirely illogical for anyone to approach her for information. “You are the closest person to Mr. Han.” I inform her coldly. I stood, brushing the red hair from my face (I had colored it before this assignment, from my usual blonde, to very red). “If they want to know how to get to him, they will have to go through you, it is their only choice. And, if the rumors continue, they may say something in your presence they would not have uttered normally.”

“I see. That does make sense.” The woman agreed, thinking a moment. Finally she relented and I was able to attach a small recorder to the inside of one button on her coat, and a small recording device disguised as a pen. Straight up James Bond stuff. It was pretty cool.

In any case, it wasn’t long before she came to me. Jaehee had not worn the same jacket that day, but had the pen in hand purely on accident, when the Choi sisters approached her in her apartment. I was overjoyed with the recordings, and Jaehee herself seemed rather pleased that it worked, before getting summoned to Mr. Han.

So the days went much like this. More than working with Mr. Han, I worked with Jaehee to support him. Over the last days, I could feel a stirring of something in my chest when he would walk by. His voice was smooth, calm, always collected and precise. I admired him, but more than that, he was openly dominant in his mannerisms, and that alone, made him physically attractive.

It did not take long for this reset to finish. I was one of the guards on duty for the event; and Jumin’s proposal was in fact quite breathtaking and romantic. But, during the party I could not help but notice that Luciel was following my movements, regardless of what I did, or where I went. It was as if he was curious about me, that something I did triggered some sense in him.

I just kept my cool, and went along with the act, nodding to him from a distance, and asking if all was well as I passed. He always replied the same, “everything is fine. Thanks.”

I was present with them with the away team that escorted the couple on their honeymoon, and I was present when Jumin purchased a large portion of MC’s Valentine ’s Day gifts. I helped her in the apartment while he was away, as I was the only female security guard on staff, and offered her one suggestion for a gift, of which I let her pick out and I retrieved. A length of red silk ribbon. I told her he’d know what to do with it, and not to worry.

I returned to my hotel room that night, and packed my bags. On the next reset, I’ll be moving to a new location, on the off chance that someone has been following me.

That night I had strange dreams.

It was as if the extended scenes were changed. Someone was messing with the story—right before my eyes! I felt like my body was being torn apart, watching everything unravel, and fragments of memories from my past exploded like glass in my head. I was burning up!

I don’t remember…I don’t remember!

The story, the story is changing and I don’t remember what it was supposed to be!

I panicked, even in my sleep. There was a gunshot, someone falling, a woman’s scream…I screamed, trying to alert someone, anyone to the catastrophe that was going to happen if this kept going.

But it didn’t.

The sun was hot on my face through the broken blinds of my room. My phone confirmed the date in early autumn. I was at the start.

But that means it is…

Saeyoung…

Luciel.

Seven.

The man with many names, many faces, many personalities…

But none of them are truly him.

It was the first morning, watching MC again, as I had so many other times, that my mind drifted to him. I had come to know him, in a sense, over the course of the many play through attempts I had already completed. It was much harder now, and there was an immense choking pain that was already building in my chest, knowing he was going to pick _her_.

It isn’t jealousy, not really. But there was a part of me that wished I could be her. She is so clueless, so shallow, and almost empty, like a shell without any life inside. She laughed, she sang, she cried, she spoke, did all the things a person could do; but it was so…animated.

She was bright, like the sun, and it lit his life up like nothing the sad secret agent had known. I wanted to be that sun, I wanted to be the light…

Wanting, that was something new. Perhaps…

The wizard appeared more those first days of the first attempt. I started early, buying the cabin in the woods that they would later use to hide in. I had so much knowledge now, about V, about Saeran, about Mint Eye, and I could only feed small parts of it to him. I had to remain the ghost.

The first reset wasn’t enough. I was unable to…do anything. I watched as Luciel faded away with the remnants of his faith. I cried for him, I wanted to call him, to comfort him when he was in his darkest moments.

But she was there, trying to do the same thing.

I found myself walking the hall on the 14th floor often. I knew they were inside, I knew MC was trying to make him open up, to lose the whole ‘tough guy secret agent’ thing and just give in to his emotions. And I already knew, that in his soul, he already had.

I hit reset as they drove down the freeway to catch up with Vanderwood.

The second attempt, before Luciel had arrived, I found my way to the door. I was in my motorcycle leathers, and my helmet was still firmly in place. The cameras moved, focusing on me. For a moment, a dark, desperate, selfish moment, I considered hacking into the lock…just to make the place explode.

In that moment, I realized what the pain was; I loved Luciel. Somehow, at some point, that lonely boy had snagged my heart. I could not do anything to hurt him…

Even if it meant giving him to someone else.

I looked up at one of the cameras, and waved weakly. I could feel a hot tear rolling down my cheek inside my helmet as I went to the stairs, and walked down.

Hacking into the security system as The Ghost was not difficult, per se. It was a constant battle with Luciel, having to re-evaluate the algorithms every couple of minutes to remain in the system long enough to implant a tiny worm—a miniscule virus that let me see what he was doing.

There is a language in computer code. It isn’t just a series of 1 and 0. There is personality; there is a signature, a piece of the scientist who created it, lodged in it. I could see where he moved the cameras; I could see what he made stronger, what he ignored.

I focused on the weak points. He was not focused on them anyway, so I spent my time mirroring his style. I went through blocks of information, cleaning up the damage, changing the algorithms enough that his brother—the hacker—could not infiltrate here.

There was little I could do about the exterior window.

I considered trying to make some sort of magnetic pulse to knock out all computer systems in the building, so Saeran’s bomb button wouldn’t work; but upon further analysis of the bomb system, I realized such a disruption would most likely make the bomb go off anyway. All I could do is wait.

I was down the hall when I saw Luciel rush the door. I was well out of the way when Saeran ran past me to escape the bomb threat. It was hours before I left, shoving the laptop into my backpack and returning to the new hotel room, close to the freeway exit that led to the Mint Eye headquarters.

That night I led his searches for the origin of the mysterious Mint Eye emails. After that, I gave him the location of the building, and watched as he went through each security protocol the building had. I took notes here, recording where the cameras and sensors were, what doors had locks that could be picked, what ones were computer run, and so on.

I could barely watch the chat room. It hurt to see Seven so…attached to MC.

This is what it feels like to love and lose.

But I did, and in the darkness and solitude of my room, I spoke out loud to him. “It is okay, Saeyoung. You are not alone; you will never, ever, be alone again,” I told him through the phone. I knew he couldn’t find me, I knew he would never hear those words from my lips. But it felt better to reassure him, even in my own silence. I promised him that I would save his brother, that I would not let him hurt himself or anyone else, ever again.

It is this promise that I now suffer from.

Over the next few days, as the day of the party drew near, I visited the room. Walking just in view of the security system, and looking up at the camera. In my way, it was me telling him that he was not alone. More than once, I heard him open the door, and search the hall after I had already shut the stairwell door.

I went to the cabin early. I made sure there was some dry goods in the cupboards, made sure the water was on, that there was plenty of candles and lanterns in the place…and that the bed had sheets available, and plenty of warm blankets.

If this is my final play through, then I will sell it as soon as they are safe, and I won’t have to think about Saeyoung holding MC, kissing her, imprinting himself in her…

It isn’t important. I am not trying to learn jealousy.

The long bike ride home gave me loads of open road to ponder what brought me here. I was in the last  character’s route. This could be…this could be it. What would happen, if I succeed? Will I be jaunted back to my boring life, my uneventful job, my thankless existence?

Or will I be stuck here, forced to watch the stories unfold over and over? Made to sit still and watch MC romance and tame every one of the men I had come so close to loving, may be even harder than the life I had abandoned. Then again…

I could simply follow as a silent observer; the protector of the protector, until either I die, or he does. I have no intention of letting that wonderful man fade from the light. If it means I die, no resets, no do overs, no saves, but he gets to finally _live_...

Then that’s what I’d do.

I do not regret this choice.

My fear of being discovered was quickly being dissolved. I made several passes at the cameras, each time hoping maybe once, our eyes would lock, that he would be able to reach through and hear my thoughts. He did manage to catch sight of me going down the stairs once. He called after me, threatening to call the cops if I stayed around, but I pretended not to hear him, and ran down the stairs before he could follow me. He didn’t sound truly threatening, scared perhaps, but not like I would be injured. He knew I was not the hacker.

But there was a sense of familiarity in his voice. Perhaps…just perhaps he remembered me from the others?

At this point, anything is possible.

It was the night of the party, and I finished installing a sensor with a hidden camera in the cabin. Just to make sure they are uninjured and made it to safety. It also gave me a little bit of a feed into the security of the building. I know he’ll shut it down shortly after arriving, but until then, I can remain as the Ghost.

Knowing he was far from home, I went to work on breaking into the security system at Saeyoung’s bunker-house. It took the entirety of the night before the party, and the whole day of before I was able to get what I needed.

I created a program; yes, it was premature, but still. I needed to install it directly into his main cpu for it to work at full potential. It was made to immediately delete all traces of Saeran’s name from every file inputted worldwide. The virus was attached to security codes from the C&R building, and the security team computer network from my previous routes, and would spread like wildfire as soon as it was installed to a computer that had threads in every source-code the world over.

Of course, it was mine. I did not mimic Seven when I created this virus. It was designed strictly in my own image—nearly unseen, sneaking in when no one would see, protecting those who need it most, and evaporating before anyone can catch it.

It wasn’t easy to create, but after a half dozen energy drinks, a pot of coffee, and enough water to drown a full grown man, I had it, and the means to break into the 707 stronghold. I am sure he wouldn’t appreciate this until he looked at it. _If_ he looked at it. He would be doing the same thing soon, wiping all traces of himself and his brother from all files, to protect them both. I am just doing it for him.

It is now that my body feels like it’s on fire again. The dream from weeks ago comes flooding back in burning flashes. I know what it is, I know what they are trying to change; the ‘secret ending’ where Saeran shoots V.

They are trying to make him kill more? Kill less? Hurt someone else? What is it that they are trying to do?

I vomit into a trashcan in the bathroom, as the visions burn and pound in my head. It only makes me more determined to make sure I win.

As one last precaution—or perhaps aid is more like it—I manage to throw down a spike strip when Vanderwood leaves with Seven’s car. Sorry Luciel; it’s just a car, you can replace the tires. It slows the other agent down, having to change the tire (as it would take more time to go back through the bunker and get the last vehicle from the garage).

“You’re welcome, MC.” I mutter to myself as my bike speeds away toward the city center.

I stop in at the party venue at the end of the event. It was lively, and I could clearly make out the figures of Jumin, Yoosung, Zen, and Jaehee in the crowd. I don’t even attempt to disguise myself this time, and walk in with my helmet under my arm. I make a large donation, of which I had forwarded from the credit card, and leave, feeling the RFA’s eyes on me as I retreat out the back.

The next days are a blur. Darkness and light mean little, as the flashes of pain and broken memory flood into every moment, regardless if I am asleep or awake. The hotel room was littered with empty bottles, and started to smell like a bar by the time I got the notification that there was something happening again at the Mint Eye headquarters. I had my leathers partially bullet proofed—since lining the entire thing would reduce mobility too far, and waited for the right day.

I was geared and speeding toward the city limits by the time I got the notice that Jumin’s security team was on the move.

The road was dusty, and my bike, now worn with many miles and untold months of constant strain, struggled up the dirt and gravel road. Around the bend, I saw one of Seven’s cars, still running, but parked on the side of the road. I sped by, knocking up rocks and shattering the glass on the driver’s side. I need to hurry.

The flashes of broken dreams were blinding me, and staying focused enough to drive was proving much more difficult. It felt like my brain was burning alive! I won’t stop, I kept telling myself, pushing the bike further.

The building came into view before long, and I could clearly see Luciel slumped on the floor, his previous wound having bled him to unconsciousness. V’s hair could just be seen in the back of the room, and there was Rika, wearing some sort of ornate religious robe, her blond hair well kempt and her eyes wide and crazed. Then there was Saeran.

And the gun.

I revved the engine and got low to the bike. With one punch, I went flying with my machine through the massive bay window at the front of the building. Again, this is not how real life worked, but now, now I flew through, glass shattering, and bike landing in the center of the tiled room, sliding 180 degrees to face the window.

What happened next bled between the blinding memories. I was off my bike, running before I could think of what else to do. I leapt with the sound of thunder echoing in the room, and fiery pain blazing through my right shoulder.

I don’t remember landing, partially on V. There is a hole in his left shoulder, high above his heart, but it bled profusely nonetheless. Rika screamed, holding her head, watching him writhe in pain on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Then I run at Saeran, my helmet is off now, and he is shaking with the gun in hand, muttering about killing someone. I trap the gun between him and me. I feel the hot barrel pressed against my stomach, shaking as he looks crazed, panicked, staring at me. “Saeran, calm down. No one can die. No one should die.” I am yelling. My arms wrap around his neck, and we fall to the floor. “Saeran…there are people who miss you, who love you, do not destroy it…do not destroy yourself…”

“Excuses, lies, LIES!” he screams and my head pulses, my arm grinds in the socket, and I can feel the blood saturating my shirt beneath the leather coat.

“Saeran…it isn’t your fault, nor is it Saeyoung’s. The brain…it is a funny thing, it breaks, and it is so hard to put back together, it can break other peoples…” I am saying, trying to calm him. It isn’t working.

“LIES!” he is sobbing into my shoulder, still shaking with his finger still on the trigger. “One left, one left, kill the lies, no more!”

One more…must be bullets…I hope he means bullets.

“If anyone will die…make it me. Take it all out on me.” I whisper. The pain is getting worse. And I bite back the blazing fire in my head. “I will take it, they do not deserve it. Let them…let them make it right.”

He looks at me, and for a moment, I think he is almost human.

But then I hear the muffled shot, and fire unlike any I have felt is burning up my insides. He starts crying, and I smile. “It is…okay. Let’s bring her back. Let’s all go home, and be whole.” I cough, and blood spatters onto his shoulder.

The doors slam open, and the security team rushes in. I stand, avoiding the guards as they subdue everyone, and tend to V. I pick up my helmet. It really does feel like I am a ghost. No one speaks to me, or even seems to notice me until I pick up my bike from the floor with my good arm.

“Hey! Wait!” I hear Vanderwood yell from somewhere in the throngs of people. I grab hold of the bike and break through the rear door, no longer caring about being injured. Warm blood is pulsing out of my stomach, and pooling in the seat beneath me.

I struggle to remain awake on the drive back to the city.

The edges of my vision are already dark and blurry, and I just about crash into the front gate at the 707 compound. The helmet is tossed to the grass as soon as I stand. My injured arm holds pressure against my stomach wound, as the good hand forces the hand computer to work its magic, unlocking each door with ease.

The house smells like sweet soda and salty chips. Even though it seems relatively clean, the scent is still heavy in the air. I can’t help but chuckle, and trudge forward.

I hear the squish of my feet on the hard floor. I tumble to my knees, as the blood loss starts to effect my equilibrium. When I find his computer, I fumble with the USB drive containing the virus, and insert it.

Right away, the virus takes hold, spreading throughout his system. “Live well, Saeyoung, my…heart…” I whisper, and retrace my bloody boot prints out of the house.

My vision is spinning, but now, it doesn’t matter. I heave the bike upright one more time, and get on without my helmet, looking up at the security camera once, before taking off toward the city center.

There was only one more stop I could imagine going, as my life was slipping away. I could barely keep balanced on the bike, and it slowed down, and sped up depending on my lucidity, and wove across the lane, between cars without much more than a thought.

Before long, I was in front of the apartment. My legs shook with uncontrollable tremors as I ditched the bike on the sidewalk, and heaved myself up the steps.

I fell three times before making it to the elevator. There was just a small spot in my vision that was still clear. My head was quickly filling with blackness, and thoughts were starting to slip away as they came to me. The pain of my bullet wounds no longer registered, just the shaking of my weakening legs, and the stain of red wherever I went.

How long will I bleed? How long do I have left?

Will someone see me? Or will I truly become the Ghost?

The bell of the 14th floor shakes me awake, as I crawl to the hallway. I am leaving a trail of my hand on the wall, since I am using it to keep me upright as I walk to the apartment. My feet feel so heavy, so does my head, my arms…but so hollow and light inside…

So now, here I am, leaning against the front door of Rika’s apartment, thinking back and watching the blood seep between my fingers.

How many times have I cried?

How many times have I watched the man I came to love see right through me?

How much longer do I have to wake up, and do this all over again?

My hand fumbles with the doorbell, before my legs give out and I fall backwards against the far wall of the hall.

It is fading now.

Everything.

It’s all going black.

It is funny, I started this feeling like I didn’t know what these feelings were, thinking I had never felt love, life, happiness…

Now, as I watch the door creek open, it is all I want.

I want to be seen!

Two figures come out, MC, and…The wizard.

“Tell them…I loved them…” I manage to choke out.

“Well done. You may rest now.” Is all he says. My eyes roll back, and my thoughts drift away. I can feel one more tear fall down my cheek.

It is fading, slipping away…Is this…the end? I never found who was trying to stop the story; I never discovered how I was kept here, repeating the loops over and over. I never got to say hello, to hug them, to tell them how proud I was of them, how happy I was for them…I never got to say “I love you” when it mattered.

And I had felt it. All of it.

But it doesn’t matter now. It is all falling from me.

If I wake up tomorrow, I hope this recording survives. I want to remember what it feels like.


	7. Dirty Dream--Zen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW~Smut warning!  
> A little thing spawning from the April Fools Day/Zen birthday DLC.  
> Shamless smut that I never put into a proper story.  
> I did include part of this in another story for another fandom, so hopefully the names didn't carry over. 
> 
> ^.^

I fall asleep with the image of Zen pressing his hand against the glass of the phone, telling me he’d wait, that he’d find a way to see me.

That our love stretches across dimensions.

For once, I fell asleep fast, and the dreams that were usually so ordinary swept swiftly in, bright and distinct.

The dream is so real! I look around me, taking in the sight of a luxurious hotel lobby, the nameless, faceless figures of people checking in and talking in hushed tones around me.

Then I see him.

Zen.

Wordlessly, he takes my hand, kisses a knuckle with grace, and leads me from the lobby. Up a flight of stone lined stairs, down a hall, to a dimly lit corridor, lined with heavy blue curtains, and into a suite room, furnished with a gloriously large bed, the coverings already turned down, inviting us.

The dream is so vivid, I can feel it in my core. With swift accuracy, he pulls me in, tight against his body, and hungrily kissing my lips. The heady scent of his musk filling me with fiery desire; hormones I had been neglecting finding new strength against my quickly silenced restraint. His steady hand entwines in my hair, tugging it just enough to tip my face toward his.

I swell and moisten, and feel the pulsing of my core, eager to give entrance.

It has been too long.

Without breaking our contact, his strong arms lift me, walking to the bed, seating me carefully on the plush mattress. He urges me back, and I allow myself to be led, his lips still exploiting the readiness of my own. I do not move fast enough, however, and he breaks the kiss to worship the tender flesh of my neck, using one hand to lift me again, the other to walk us backward, until I am entirely splayed on the bed beneath him

I could feel the ridge of his desire against my outer thigh. Gently, he pulls the dress up, and with that hand, he traces up the inside of my leg to the junction of my thighs.

His careful index finger strokes me. Circling  once, feather soft. I shudder, the dampness of my dripping cunt soaking into the beautiful hands that eagerly explores me. Twice.

I moan into his ear, my hips rocking to his touch. I love the gentleness…but a silent voice demands harder, faster, wanting release….

Again, and again… 

Steady, slow, methodical, like a dance.

Clumsily I fumble with the button at his waist, my fingers not heeding the demands of my distracted mind. Moments, what seem like hours pass tugging at the button. Fed up with the traditional methods, this is my dream. With a flick of my wrist, the pants are gone, and my hands are free to explore the flesh of his thighs.

My hands slide up, raising his shirt to his shoulders. He breaks from my neck to remove the shirt. He is now naked above me, one hand glistening wet with my essence. With a charming and devious smile, he snaps, and my dress is obliterated into nothingness.

And then his finger slid deep inside me and he pressed his palm to my mound. I continue to rock against his hand, his erection sliding against bare thigh, his fingertip inside me messaging my point of desire.

Zen’s eyes pierce me, following my every heavy breath, watching my chest as the sweat begins to form a glistening sheen between my breasts. With firm, deliberate kisses, he tastes my breasts, nibbling, sucking, caressing every delicate inch of me. A warm, rumbling groan erupts from his lips, a satisfied noise, as he eases his way up to catch my lips in his. 

His finger withdraws, and I whimper, bereft; but an instant later he parts my thighs with his knee, easing himself between my thighs. His careful hand continues its course about my sensitive clitoris, before two fingers slowly press their way inside. I uncontrollably cant my hips toward his hand.

Slowly he removes his hand, and I am desperately empty. His hardness presses against my core as he lowers himself gently onto me, his lips still seeking refuge with my own. I feel myself grinding my hips upward, wanting to find my prize with the pleasure of his hardened desire.  He groans, the pressure and friction of my gyration adding more fuel to the fire burning within us both; the rumble in his chest vibrating into mine.

He leans on one forearm, the other hand grabbing a handful of muscle in my thigh, lifting my hips up off the bed, tilting my pelvis toward him. Following the same rhythm as his hand earlier, he pushes his hips, his length easing into me, little by little with each gentle thrust.

I can feel my core tighten, easing ever close r to my release as he is hilted deep within me. I feel him pulse, hot and hard within me, his heavy, haggard exhale dusting my closed eyelids.  He whispers my name, as he pulls slowly out and back in, grinding into my farthest depths. My skin crawls with excitement, and my hands find themselves grasping at his muscled back in some attempt to pull him even deeper.

Perhaps it is the dream, or maybe the lack of attention to my femininity, but this slow, dangerously deep undulation of his rocking hips builds me quickly toward my climax. My fingers dig into his back, and he grunts, his pace quickening.

My love—

The words, breathy and deep lay low the last of my ability to restrain myself further. My core clenches, and I fall into waves of release, his pace gaining speed with each wave. As I tighten, I feel him tense, a primal string of near gibberish slips through his panting lips as he spills into me. Together we pulse, my body encasing his, until the sensations subside and I open my eyes. Zen smiles, his chest still regaining a normal rhythm of breathing, and he simply says “I love you,” kissing my swollen lips.

It feels strange when the world fades, graying at the edges and slipping away.

I am not ready for it to end yet. My soul cries out in pain as it disappears into darkness.

When my eyes open, it is dark, and I am alone. There is dampness from my wet dream lingering in the sheets around me, and for a moment, the other side of my bed feels much warmer than it should; as if someone had just risen from bed before my eyes opened. But no, I fell asleep alone.

Of course I am alone…

When my eyes focus and adjust to the deep darkness I notice something.

This…is not my bed.

“Princess?”

I know the voice.

My eyes widen as I sit upright with a start, looking at the figure in the doorway.

“Zen?!” my voice is barely a whisper. This can’t be real!

He smiles and rushes to me, taking me in his arms. I feel the shudder in his shoulders, the heat coming off his chest, and the strength of his arms as they tighten around my nude torso.

“You…how…” he chokes. “You…you’re real? I can’t believe it!”

Then the tears come and I cannot help but embrace him back.

If this is still a dream, I pray with every ounce of my soul, that I never, ever wake up.


End file.
